


That's For Last Time

by AppleL0V3R



Series: Trust Me, I'm A Doctor [1]
Category: Naruto, One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Humor, Slow Burn, Spoilers, connected one-shots really, mini-series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-07 20:03:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8814397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleL0V3R/pseuds/AppleL0V3R
Summary: The one where they don't really meet the first time they meet, and despite what they say it's not about the one-upmanship. Naruto/One Piece Crossover. LawSaku.





	1. Unpaid Debts

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: If you’ve heard of it before, then it’s obviously not mine. 
> 
> The first part was supposed to be longer with the second part as more of an after note. I really should know better by now than to set expectations on what my writing turns out as. I am, however, quite pleased with the turn out. On that note: yes another crossover. I’m still stuck on One Piece (though I’m officially caught up) and Trafalgar Law was an instant favorite alongside Ace. Naturally that led to a Law/Sakura one-shot. Which led to thoughts of continuing this (thus the title) and now I have so many bunnies hoping around for sequels to this that I’m not sure how the multiplied so fast. And if you enjoy my crossovers, know that I have more ideas (including a modern AU) and an Ace/Saku story in the works.  
> Also, I’m aware Law’s eyes are yellow in the manga, and usually I’m prone to side with the manga over the anime. But in the anime they are grey and that’s kinda my mental image of Law now. Which is why I will continue to portray him with grey eyes instead of yellow.  
> Lastly, this set after the Naruto storyline (diverges from canon during the 4th Shinobi War), and before the beginning of One Piece. For clarification, Sakura is 17 and Law is 22.

“Co…ra…-san…?”

Sakura blinked as she ran the syllables over in her mind again. If she didn’t know better she would have assumed he had said ‘kura-san’ but in his delirium, even if he did know of her—which was impossible—it was highly unlikely he would recognize her. Rather than correct him however, she hummed softly, “It’ll be alright, I’ve got you.”

A heavy exhale, carrying relief and confusion. “…how…?”

Instinct told her he wasn’t asking how it would be alright, or how she would help him. She’d bet it had more to do with the ‘Cora-san’ he had mistaken her for. Mostly, she knew that tone—it denoted a feeling she was more than a little familiar with.

Loss. Grief.

Her heart ached for the man she carried on her back.

No doubt, if he remembered any of this, he would not remember _her_. He would remember his ‘Cora-san.’

And she hoped like hell she could make it a pleasant memory. Touched with the bittersweet knowledge of remembering a lost loved one, but full of the warmth of believing in them once more. Granted, she knew that playing to the memory could also be considered cruel by some. To offer him something that simply was not real and could never be true.

Still.

If someone had allowed her to believe, even for a moment that she could feel Naruto’s warmth, be covered under Kakashi-sensei’s protection, remember Sai as something other than cold and pale, she would give anything. Oh it would hurt when reality kicked back in. But for a moment she could believe. And that was how she hoped he would remember this.

She didn’t miss a beat as she adjusted her hold on him, careful not to undo the chakra strings that held her cloak closed against the biting wind.

“It will be.” She promised him softly, and told herself that surely, if he was lucky enough to have someone like her run across him in a time of need that the rest of his pain could also be taken care of. The little town at the base of the small mountain was not much farther, and she was glad that she had booked a room at one of the small inns before she had gone trekking up the mountain.

It made her wonder what he had been doing there—injured and woefully underdressed for the freezing temps, the thin air and the heavy snowfall. A damaged hoodie and a fur hat did _not_ count. Thus why she had taken out her only spar cloak to wrap around them both and relinquished her favorite red scarf in favor of keeping the thin skin around his vitals insulated and warm. She would worry about getting his body temp up to proper levels once she had him safely in a bed and his wounds properly dressed.

Lost in her considerations and the task of safely heading down a mountain, she had assumed he had either relapsed into sleep or was so drowsy that he soon would be. His second exhale, softer than the first, but just as deliberate startled her enough to jar her from her musings but not enough to physically react.

“I know…I’m almost ready to avenge you.”

Her green eyes widened and she bit the inside of her lip to keep from responding. She did not know this man, she reminded herself. And despite the illusion she was playing to, he did not know he was divulging such personal details to a complete stranger. Now was not the time to ask questions and or make comments about circumstances she knew nothing of. No matter how against vengeance she tended to be.

But he had not fallen asleep yet; seemed to be fighting unconsciousness, like this exchange was more important than anything. And so she carefully pieced together a reply. “Hush, now. You need to recover first before you can do that.” She paused, thought about leaving it there as it was vague enough to pass for something that perhaps his own thoughts could conjure and explain. But she could not help herself—vindication for any reason always reminded her of Sasuke and just how tragically his situation had gone—and so she tacked on: “But I hope you have more dreams. After all; the best way to honor a memory is remembrance of the best parts.”

She had no way of knowing if that was in-line with his memory of his ‘Cora-san’ or even if it was something he would ever tell himself. But it needed to be said. Revenge was a hollow victory, rarely bringing any feeling of completion or closure. But to deny the need for it outright did not work for everybody.

Another exhale against the hypersensitive skin of her own neck, and she waited for him to reply. But after a moment of prolonged silence, she realized his breathing had evened out once more, his heartbeat just as steady.

Apparently, he had gotten what he needed, no longer fighting to stay conscious.

She smiled softly, and returned her attention to the snowy wilderness and the path in front of her.

* * *

When he woke again, it was to the feeling of being cocooned in warmth, though he was stationary again and the warmth was different.

 _Cora-san_.

His eyes shot open and he made to sit up. But his body protested such abrupt movements via dulled radiating aches that had him returning to his original position. Law was a doctor—and not just because of his Devil Fruit—so he knew better than to push his body without understanding the source of the pain. Reclining once more, he took stock of what his senses could gather.

The first thoughts were of what he last remembered: the mountain, being surrounded, sustaining too many injuries. The next were of his current state: still recovering from the heavy damage, but definitely at the tail end of it. And finally the realization that he was in a warm bed—warmer than the thin sheets should be able to offer even with what his own boosted body temperature could account for. Surrounded by plain though not unpleasant wooden walls in a relatively small though not really tiny room.

He was at an inn.

How had he gotten from bloodied and immobile on a snowy mountainside to a cozy room?

 _Cora-san_.

Except…Corazon was dead. Had been for almost a full decade.

The sense-memory of being carried, of a soft voice promising him that it would be alright, competed for the pain of remembered loss. But he’d lived with his grief for long enough to build up an immunity to the worst of it.

 _The best way to honor a memory is remembrance of the best parts_.

Swallowing the lump in his throat before it could turn golf-ball-sized and choke him, he tried to remember the source of the voice, of the words. They were not Cora-son, as much as he wished they were, but they were warm—seeking to pay homage to the loss rather than judge the results of endured heart wrenching pain.

Try as he might he could not remember the woman who had carried him from the barren wilderness to this bed, the one who was responsible for the bulk of his recovery.

Slowly, he tested his muscles and limbs by sitting up and stretching them cautiously to gain a fuller idea of his newly healed state.

She’d done a bang up job.

The least of the bruising was little more than phantom aches, and the worst of it were the pinkened remnants of gashes sown together and underlying tissues mended and bones reknitted.  He would bet he would not have so much as a tiny scar when all was said and done. Like he had never been wounded in the first place.

Had she done them herself? Or had she gotten someone else to repair the damage he had sustained?

Didn’t matter, he decided. He was healthy enough to venture out of the bed. Certainly well enough to no longer need the cloak and scarf tucked snuggly around him.

Grey eyes blinked. Cloak? Scarf? But sure enough, a thick but lightweight snow-white cloak tied loosely around his neck, the hood fallen to cover the one on his own warm hoodie. Over the tied cloak, was a vibrant red scarf, looped and tucked to cover the entirety of his neck, the lower half of his face and there was enough left over of the thick material to rest on half of both shoulders.

The hell…?

Had she left them? Probably as an unsubtle reminder that he was not dressed for this island’s chilly weather.

Belated he realized that he could feel the slight circulation of air around his ears and rustling the ends of his short hair. Frowning, he twisted around to see if she had brought his hat since she had been gracious enough to leave him clothing that did not belong to him.

His favorite fur hat hung from the headboard’s bedpost. And as he reached out to grab it, he noticed the silver, covered dish on the nightstand.

Was that food? A small sticky note on the silver cover read in neat handwriting: ‘ _Caution: still hot._ ’

Hell. Whoever she was, she was definitely not from these parts. The people here had been as warm and fuzzy as their island.

He doubted that the food would still be hot given that he had been unconscious long enough for her to fully dress his wounds, _tuck him in bed_ , and, apparently, get him food. Forcing aside thoughts of who in their right mind did something so selfless for someone they didn’t know, he picked up the platter the dish sat on, careful with it because he had no idea of what was beneath the cover dish. Even before he settled it in his lap, the heat coming off the metal was hard to miss.

Considering that maybe, he had not been out for as long as he assumed, he glanced back at the table—saw the money with another sticky note attached and mug but not much else.

He closed his eyes briefly and decided to just be grateful for this particular stroke of luck and call it good. The other option was to consider himself indebted to someone he could only remember the voice of and _did not_ have time for that. He had a damn plan to see to fruition and could not go looking for someone he couldn’t even recognize on-sight.

Her words filtered through his thoughts again as he uncovered the dish. A bowl of ramen that had various vegetables and bits of meat with a side of a few onigiri and cubed fruits. His first thought was no bread, his second was to wonder why she would say something like that to him. Did she know him? Did he know her?

 _Dropping it_ , he reminded himself. After all, she was clearly the opposite of a threat to him and his plans and judging by the tone she’d used with him it was unlikely she would become so.

He ignored the rumbling in his stomach, given that he had every intention of finishing everything on the plate, and instead, focused his thoughts on his next few steps. Once the dish was empty he shuffled around until he could hook his knees over the side of the bed and exchanged the dish for the cup—also still warm and the beverage a sweet tea that lacked in fragrance. Honey, green tea extract, and what he would guess were few other near tasteless herbs meant to help the body’s own natural healing processes and protect it from infection.

As he downed the cup as quickly as he dared, he picked up the note that had been left on the money. _Paid the innkeeper for the room already (two days’ worth). Do me a favor and tip him though._

Law picked up the small stack of _beris_ and noted that there was probably about a five-hundred-thousand in total. Not exactly pocket change, but not really something to balk at. More than he would give a stranger though.

_Hell._

Separating out one of the 10,000 note _beri_ he pocketed the rest along with both sticky notes and stood up to search for the rest of his things. She’d stowed Kikoku so inconspicuously that if he had not been looking for it, he would not have seen it by the small closet area where she’d put the rest of his things on the high shelf. Unsurprised by the thoughtfulness in the wake of all she’d done for him thus far, he gathered his belongings and headed for the door once his shoes were properly fitted on his feet.

He paused at the door—there was another note stuck to it with her handwriting.

 _Warded: open door only when you’re ready to leave_.

Warded? Considering it, he turned his gaze along the entirety of the door frame in a bid to find the traps she warned of and frowned when he didn’t see so much as thread or notch. Whatever she had done, there was no indication that bore him any threat.

The second part of the note, he realized meant that her warding would only hold up until the door was opened. That in mind, he opened the door slowly, conscious of any changes, subtle or otherwise. He perceived nothing. Still frowning, he took an experimental step over the threshold. Nothing. Only once he was completely out of the room did he realize the near imperceptible difference in the weight of the air around him.

Whatever trap she’d laid had been completely harmless to him, but once more it was a case of only finding it because he was looking for it. Idly, he wondered what, exactly, it would have done to an intruder.

He continued to turn the thought over in his head as he made his way to the first floor and paused at the entryway long enough to gain the innkeeper’s attention from behind the simple desk he was seated at. The middle aged man, eyed him curiously, clearly assuming that Law had no reason to stop by the front desk at all. Before the man could say a word, he slid the note he’d separated out earlier across the light-colored wood. The man’s eyes widened before blinking confusedly at Law.

It didn’t take long for the confusion to fade as he smiled and shook his head. He reached out to the generous tip and moved to slide it back to Law. “Thank you, however, the young miss already paid for your room.”

Repressing a scowl, Law shrugged at the man and made no move to take the money back. Wasn’t even his anyway. “She said to give it to you.”

More blinking, a bigger smile. The gratitude made Law uncomfortable, given that the money wasn’t from him. He was in the same boat as the older man in that respect so he shook his head slightly, and took a step back in an effort to distance himself from favor that hardly belonged to him. But the man was undaunted and quick to inform him that he was welcome to stay at the inn again if he ever returned to the frosty island. Sighing with the realization that the man would not be told no over the matter, Law nodded and mentioned that he’d pass it along to the ‘young miss’ when prompted. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted the three scrawny little boys of no more than eight playing behind the counter.

Town like this? 10,000 _beris_ probably went far.

Turning on his heel, he exited the little inn before anyone else could say anything more. The scarf seemed to burn a hole in his bag where he had stowed it for safekeeping.

He had plans, damn it. He didn’t have time for unpaid debts.


	2. Acquisitions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I’ve already got ideas for at least a handful more ‘chapters’ to add to this. I have absolutely no idea where I’m gonna end this—which is to say I don’t have some grand overarching plot planned. It’s more connected one-shots (and yeah, okay, some plot because I can’t not). Also, the voice and the style of this piece is mildly different from my norm, I doubt it is a permanent alteration given that I wrote the first chunk of it at 3 am and hopped up on far too much coffee. The mentioned sword and base is my creation, not originally existing in the One Piece universe. This one legitimately got away from—again on Law’s part, I’m probably jinxing it now, but I think it’s a thing.   
> Also, fair warning, I have read it over a few times, but it hasn't been beta-ed by anyone else. If there are mistakes, please let me know, but otherwise I should have a fully edited version in this one's place in like a week (or two depending on how the holidays go for me).

Right then, Sakura decided that she was never _ever_ taking another mission that had anything to do with marines. Specifically being commissioned to steal from a heavily guarded marine base—the only structure on a tiny island of the coast of nowhere. In her defense she thought it would be fun—like the way bar brawls were fun.

This was decidedly _not_ fun. This was the antithesis of fun.

And if she was being perfectly honest with herself, if Tsunade signed her up for another mission that included marines she probably would not be able to throw it back. Good faith and all that. Sakura snorted. Right, more like the freedom to do what she wanted, _pursue_ what she wanted, out on the Grand Line without Tsunade threatening to force her to return to Konoha any time soon. Ignoring that particular line of thought, she considered the merits of talking Tsunade in possibly _not_ getting her into trouble with the organization that policed the whole damn world.

But honestly? If she got out of this place in one piece _and_ without her face on a wanted poster, she would call it a win. Thankfully she had aced ‘sneaking and stealing’ in the academy. Along with basic transformation genjutsu and perception warping genjutsu. But she was playing a game with herself—how little of her chakra could she use to get the job done? And yeah, she would clear the damn mission—she had a perfect success rate she had to maintain if she wanted to have any wiggle room the next time Tsunade started getting pushy about how long Sakura had been gone for.

But, oh the intel she had gained with this excursion. This would pay in more than just the wages the village had been offered for the completion of the request. As a well-rounded and well-trained shinobi, picking up intel and useful bits of information was child’s play under most circumstances. But this particular kind of intel did not come from overhearing bits of conversations or casually observing actions and behaviors. This kind of intel come from scouring the documents of people who had secrets to hide.

Not that she was surprised that such documents existed or that such cover-ups had occurred. After all, Konoha had quite the checkered past itself to speak of, or hush up as the case may be, and it was nowhere near the giant organization that was the Navy or the World Government. Even as she scanned the documents, committing as much to memory as she could before she was forced to move on or be discovered, she was grateful for the leeway that Tsunade granted her without question.

Her exact mission, as Tsunade had told her via a slug messenger, was to acquire the stolen cursed sword, _Sekiryoku_ , which was currently being held on a marine base that was located several days of sailing away from the jungle island known as Little Garden. There had been no explanation as to why that particular blade was the mission objective any more than why Sakura _had_ to meet with man paying for it on another island several day’s journey in the exact opposite of Little Garden that the marine base was.

She had been at this for over a year, long enough to learn not to argue overmuch on the details. Besides there were no directives, either from the client or Tsunade, the barred her from using whatever methods she deemed fit to acquire the sword, or anything else that she did while on the marine base, so long as she did get the sword and she handed it over to the man. Gaining more information hardly harmed the trust Tsunade had in her, and therefore her prerogative to pursue potentially useful intel. Namely if it lead to the whereabouts or any other information about one runaway Uchiha—not that Sakura was going to tell Tsunade about looking for who the older woman liked to refer to as ‘the damn Uchiha brat’ or, if she was pissed off ‘the damn Uchiha traitor.’

The soft scuff of leather against granite tiling was her only warning before the door to the room she had hidden in opened. Green eyes widened in alarm, and in the back of her mind she scrambled to figure out why her senses had not warned her sooner, as she made to hide. Except there were no desks or conveniently placed furniture for her duck behind. Ceilings were too low to stick herself to. No room to make it look like _she_ was an inanimate object.

Damn. She had been so caught up in her own head, she had literally just got—

Her eyes widened further.

After all, it had been months since she had seen that handsome face. While the situation that had led to her dealing with him had been from unique or even uncommon given her area of expertise, Sakura had a good memory and she had genuinely hoped that the man she had found on a snowy mountain, injured and unconscious would make it through. She just had not figured the possibility that she would run into him _here_ of all places. Or rather that he would happen upon her.

She was glad to see that he looked whole and hail, though. And more appropriately dressed for chillier weather. As his grey eyes honed in on her, she idly wondered if he still had her scarf. She really missed it, more so than she had thought she would considering it was a simple scarf—easily replaced. Except, she had _made_ that scarf, threaded in her own chakra into it. So okay, maybe not _easily_ replaced, but it was still a scarf. And, oh did he have nice eyes.

Another thought, more important than the silly feminine musing that she would have expected out of her preteen self, occurred to her. Despite the fact that she had helped him, it was highly unlikely that he even remembered her. Probably did not know what she looked like on the off chance that he did remember. And lastly, but most importantly, he had a wanted poster—she’d seen it somewhere around here—and she had no idea what his moral compass looked like.

Shit. She might very well be in entirely different hot water than she had been prepared for.

* * *

 

To say that Law was more than a little annoyed at having to retrieve his stolen _nodachi_ would have been an understatement. But as he was hardly the type to complain, he kept his agitation to bark orders and using _shambles_ a touch too much to get his point across. Why the marines felt the need to confiscate Kikoku, he had no idea, especially since stealing swords like that was generally frowned upon no matter who you were. He had not stopped to ask or consider, really. All he was concerned with was getting the blade back and wrecking a little havoc along the way.

They had, after all, dubbed him the Surgeon of Death almost on the heels of distributing his wanted poster, and it would be a shame if he did not live up to his own epithet so early on.

Grim humor aside, he had pinpointed the sword’s location to a small marine base almost in the middle of a handful of other islands and thankfully not too far out of his way. Now, he just needed to find a place to dock the sub so he could get in, get his sword, and get out—while doing as much damage as possible. The docking, it turned out, was not so hard given that there was an unattended area on the tiny island that was hardly ideal for docking but was not under surveillance and lacked marine activity. Given the size of the island, as long as he did not run into any unforeseen trouble, a couple of _Room_ s would get him both in and out without much trouble.

As he had expected, the infiltration was a cakewalk, though he remained vigilant of anything that might throw a wrench in his plans. He paused only briefly at the bulletin board solely for wanted posters—his among them. Though his own wanted poster was hardly his reason for pausing, instead he made note of the people the marines considered new big fish and their bounties. The one that clocked in at thirty million _beri_ caught his eye; and he committed the name—Monkey D. Luffy, captain of the Straw Hat Pirates—to memory.  He found it paid to know the players in the game, whether or not it was a game he intended to play. His main goal was to take down Doflamingo, to avenge Cora-san the best way he knew how. But that did not mean he intended to be blindsided or hindered along the way just because he had not been cautious or mindful enough.

When he took a moment longer than he intended to observe, he realized that the reason the infiltration process had gone smoother than planned because of the oddly thinned ranks of marines milling about the base. He had run across less than a handful thus far and he was already well on his way past the front portion of the base. The realization brought with it a feeling of unease.

With a sinking feeling in his gut, he made his way towards the first stairwell that he had run across and suspected that pirate loot would not be held on the first floor of the three-story base. The stone steps led to another hallway, this one with far more doors and still no one in sight. With the impending sense of ‘trap’ blaring in his head, he promised himself that he would get Kikoku and worry about doing damage when he knew he did not have to worry about getting out with life and limb intact.

Grey eyes widened when it occurred to him that the lack of guards and overall personnel here could mean his sub had been spotted and the marines had been deployed. Though it had merit, he discarded the possibility on grounds of lack of alarms and, again, over all presence.

Then why was the base so empty?

Surely marine bases were supposed to be _crawling_ with marines, filled to the gills with officials and ranks and other corrupt matters. Which brought him right back to his question—why was this one so special?

The first door he came to was locked, which was hardly a problem even without his sword, and when he pressed his ear to the door there was no sound on the other side. Deciding to take a chance on attempting the first available door, he created a small _room_ and sliced clean through the lock with a pocket knife. He proceeded with caution, though he was beginning to doubt the chances of running into anyone’s personal quarters and could think of no other reason for someone to be so silent.

 The room, or janitor’s closet, was indeed devoid of human life. Though, before he closed the door, he noted that some of the jars and containers did not seem quite right. Rather, their contents did not look right based on their labels. Frown deepening, he remembered that the door had been locked. Why lock a janitor’s closet? Did they have people stealing cleaning supplies? Off-seeming cleaning supplies, admittedly, but it hardly seemed the kind of thing they’d want new recruits having to ask for the keys to every time they had to clean something.

Deciding that he was beginning to just want off this island all together so he did not have to continue dealing with such oddities and considering what that might mean for him, he shut the door and continued on to the next one.

This one was clearly not locked given the lack of door knob altogether, and he could hear the susurration of paper at infrequent intervals. The chance that there was not a person in there was not worth risking, so he backed off and headed for the next door. This one also unlocked, and also empty of both people and Kikoku. There was also nothing odd about it either, as long as he was not counting the fact that it was completely devoid of anything but the blue stones and the small high windows.

This was going to get tedious, wasn’t it? Shit, he did _not_ have time for this.

Nearly half an hour after that particularly epiphany, he had checked all the doors on the floor save for the one he presumed to have someone behind it. They had all turned up the same, unlocked and strangely empty. He was almost thankful for the high probability of running into a marine at this point, if only so he could blow off some steam. And with luck, the marine would know where his _yoto_ had been stashed. And then he could get off this stupid tiny island and continue on with his original plans.

Once he had gotten back to the door he had skipped, he unsheathed his _tanto_ and slowly opened the door.

The first thing he noticed was that the room was overflowing with documents and filing cabinets, which meant the likelihood of his sword being here was fairly low. The second thing was that there was a pink-haired woman rifling through said papers. She did not wear a marine uniform or anything resembling the world government ensemble—rather she looked more like a pirate or a mercenary. And a surprised one at that.

Was she why there was a conspicuous absence of Navy soldiers? She probably could not be responsible for the other oddities that he had happened across, but he found the scenario likely despite her slim and petite stature. He had learned quickly, even before coming to the Grand Line with his own crew, that you could not judge anyone or anything on the Grand Line by appearances alone. To do so was more than sheer folly; it was a good way to get dead fast.

Still, something about her tugged at his memory. He felt like he should know this young woman. Given the way her green eyes were staring at him with a mix of pure surprise and mild amusement, he figured she knew him. Or at least knew of him. Enough to recognize him and react to his appearance here specifically.

Frowning again, he made no move to sheathe his weapon but shifted slightly to lean against the door jam and nod to her. “We’ve met before.”

The surprise and amusement faded into a smile and curious eyes. “Yeah, I didn’t think you would remember me considering you were mostly unconscious the entire time. I’m glad to see you doing well considering your condition back then.” She paused, then cocked her head, “I’m also glad to see you dressed more appropriately for the weather.”

The last sentence, no doubt a subtle jab at the circumstances to which she was referring, was also probably geared to help him place where exactly they had met.

Despite his best efforts over the last few months, he had thought about the woman who had saved him—and heaped generosity on him thereafter—and what she might be like. This young woman, who looked younger and far more innocent then him, was not exactly what he had imagined. Granted, he had not though he would run into her ever again, let alone in a small naval base secluded and close to reverse mountain.

“An oversight,” he conceded to the idle comment without bothering to mention that he was from the North Blue and more than used to chilly temps. The real oversight had been allowing himself to be surrounded by mountain thugs and underestimating just how much damage they could do to him. It was not a mistake he would make again. “But you have my thanks for all the help you provided.” He wondered if now would be the best time to pay back that debt he could not help but feel he owned her. But he did not have any _beri_ on him, let alone a way to recompense for the rest of it.

Her smile grew and for a moment he was stunned by the sheer warmth of it. That was not the kind of smile that connoted an expectation of repayment. No, that was the kind of smile that implied that she had gotten pleasure from simply knowing he was whole and hail still, and mannered enough to be grateful for it. “Don’t mention it; I don’t practice anymore but I used to be a doctor and all that.” Fighting the urge to blink in surprise, he realized that the closest thing to saint had run across him that day. Maybe he really should count his blessings.

Instead, he gave her a small smile in return. “As a doctor myself, I hope you didn’t do all the rest of it in the name of the Hippocratic Oath.”

She laughed softly, a chime-like sound that was pleasant to listen to. “No, I’ll admit, the rest of it was less ensuring you would make it and more rooting for you.” She shrugged then, “What can I say, I don’t mind helping out people I like.”

The smile returned to a frown and confusion marred his brow, “’Like’?”

She hummed an affirmative, “Yeah, I guess you don’t remember it, but when I was carrying you down the mountain you woke up. We talked for little and,” another pause, another shrug, “I don’t know. Guess it just made me like you enough to do more than patch you up.”

He nodded slowly, trying to remember waking up. He remembered dreaming of Cora-san and of course the words in his head back then still rang in his ears every now and then, but he did not remember holding a conversation with this woman back then. Had she been the one to remind him that there was more to mourning than revenge? Possible, and he decided, acceptable if that was true.

“No, I don’t remember. But whatever I said, it doesn’t negate the fact that I am thankful. There’s a good chance I wouldn’t have survived if you hadn’t helped me out.”

She nodded in turn, “And like _I_ said, you’re welcome, but please, I didn’t do it so you would owe me.” She laughed again then, “Besides, I don’t imagine having an up-and-coming pirate such as yourself would ordinarily make for a good bet.”

Not a pirate then, he mused. “Oh? And why’s that?” He did not see the need to ask how she knew who was; undoubtedly she had seen the wanted poster board on the first floor. The thought of the board reminded him that he hardly had time to stay and chat, he had a sword to find and a sub to return to. He noticed that right about the same time she turned back to the papers she had been reading before he interrupted.

She glanced up at him from the documents that she was, presumably, returning to the state she had found them in. “Honestly? The last time someone notorious owed me such a debt, they repaid me in blood.” She pursed her lips and bit off a sigh. “Not exactly an experience I’m keen on repeating.”

Interest piqued, he finally sheathed the _tanto_ and took a step into the room, absently noting the subjects of the files still open around him, to help her straighten up the room. “So you wouldn’t have helped me if you had known I was a pirate?”

She hummed again, this time clearly considering his question. Moments of silence passed between them, filled only with the sound of rustling papers and the scrape of metal. Finally, when they were just about finished she looked at him, “No, I probably still would have helped you.”

It was his turn to hum by way of response. Whether or not she made for saint material, he decided that she would be an excellent ally down the road. Even if she did not seem too keen on pirates.

He let his eyes sweep the room one more time before they landed back on her. Still no sign of Kikoku. Damn. “Have you been in any other rooms of this base?” He assumed the answer was yes, but it never hurt to confirm rather than presume.

She nodded, “All of the first floor and nearly all of this floor, except for the door between here and the stairs.”

Good, that would save him some trouble now that he was reasonably sure she would be inclined to be honest with him for the rest of the conversation. “It’s a janitor’s closet.” He left off the bit about finding the chemicals and supplies odd; doubted it had barring.

She blinked, her expression pinching in consternation as she set one hand on her hip and tipped her head back to peer at the stone ceiling. “So the artifacts are on the third floor, huh?”

Surprise skittered through him, “Artifacts? This is a Navy base, why would they be collecting such things?”

Her green eyes shifted to focus on him once more before she finally righted her head and dropped her hand and turned to head for the door. She paused briefly in the threshold to glance back at him in askance, clearly she thought they would tackle this bit together as well. He considered the merits of allowing her the assumption and decided it was harmless enough. She seemed intelligent enough to not make a habit of assuming things of him. He was, at his core, a pirate after all—one who prized his freedom more than anything else. Except for his goal.

When he fell instep with her, the height differential and by extension their respective natural gaits were hard to miss though neither of them remarked upon it, she half-turned to answer his questions. “I wasn’t able to find out _why_ exactly, but there have been reports and some talk of this particular base picking up…well, I suppose the best way to categorize it would be ‘odds and ends.’ Apparently, this is where they store confiscated or otherwise acquired objects that have either black market value or legends attached. Which is why I called them artifacts.”

He nodded whenever she paused for breath, to show her he was listening and understanding as he digested the information. A base that stockpiled things like cursed swords— _stolen_ cursed swords, but still—would definitely not be something they would be loud and proud about. Certainly not something they would want raided either. But he was still surprised that he had not caught wind of any such thing. Yet here it was, right down to the unsettling feeling that had not quite left him since he realized how odd this place seemed to be.

They walked past the stairs that led back to the first floor and he realized there was another door to the other side of them that had to lead to third floor. Unsurprisingly, the door was also locked. But rather than reveal his _Akuma no Mi_ powers, he let her do the lock picking. After all, all the other doors after the one he had found her in had been unlocked, which meant she had to have been responsible. Though he did wonder at her methods considering only one of the doors had been missing a door knob.

It also made him consider what business she had there, and why she had gone looking in the first place. He refrained from asking on the grounds that he was operating on the fact that she had been actively nonthreatening thus far and he saw no need to cast suspicion. Curiosity aside, he hardly saw the need to pry into matters that clearly did not involve him.

There was yet another door at the top of the stairs, this one different than the others in that it was made of steel rather than solid wood held together with iron moldings. He would bet it was at least a good half foot thick as well. The pink haired doctor knelt down to be eye level with the lock, clearly analyzing how it worked and how to break in. After a beat she sighed, rocked back on her heels and stood once more. With a determined expression, she shifted her body to bracing stance and, before he could make so much as a sound, slammed and open palm into the door where the lock bolted it to the rest of the wall.

With wide eyes, he realized that she must be well-practiced in the art of fishman karate or perhaps the Mink Tribe’s highly impactful kung fu; the latter, he knew was the more likely of the two given the absence of water content in the steel door. He barely regained his composure as the door was forced open and damn near off its hinges and stepped forward alongside her. Law was going to chalk that up to reasons _not_ to judge a book by its cover, reason number 137. Especially as they passed the vault-like door and he approximated the thickness to be closer to a foot and a half.

The marines had taken numerous precautions to keep others out, hadn’t they?

Made him wonder what else was on this floor that needed such safeguarding. He supposed it could not be anything to big or worthwhile since there was no one on this floor either.

His new partner in crime jerked her head towards the door immediately to their right and then pointed to the one to their left, the question and obvious intent clear in her eyes. He nodded and stepped towards the door to the left. In doing so he missed the amused smile that curved her lips as she stepped towards the door on the right at the same time. He did not, however, miss the soft chuckle she let out as they made their way towards their respective doors.

Even as he outed his pocket knife, he raised an eyebrow at her and received a smile and a headshake in return. Huh. Well, he could analyze the wordless communication they were managing later—after he was well on his way to his next destination, this entire mess behind him. That in mind, he repeated the process he had on the floor below to open the door and focused on surveying the room beyond without so much as a sideways glance to see if she had observed his abilities.

An initial onceover yielded no swords or sharp-edged weapons whatsoever. In fact, the space was full of a hodgepodge collection of objects that could truly be termed artifacts—assuming they had the history or function to prove it. Unsurprisingly there were more than a few crystals throughout. Contraptions that either seemed this side of mundane or ones that would require testing or logic to figure out boasted the majority of the objects, however. If he had more time or inclination, he might have entered and toyed and considered the objects in this room. But as it was, his patience was wearing thin with this place, so he stepped back from the room and shut the door.

He turned to the right, fully expecting her to still be in the room she had picked. Indeed, there was no pink-haired woman in sight so he moved towards the open door to peer inside. Ironically, it was a small chamber full of weapons. Thankfully, Kikoku had a unique pattern and size that would make it easier to pick out of a bunch, and therefore he would not be checking everything with a hilt or scabbard in the room.

His temporary companion was sorting through the mass of weapons, pulling out anything with a hilt, though he saw no _nodachi_ among what she had already separated out. She paused when he stepped over the threshold and he was momentarily reminded of the inn and the sticky note she’d left on the door denoting that it had been warded. He still had those sticky notes, and the clothing she had left with him. He would have to find a way to give them back to her now that he would have an easier time of it.

The train of thought was quickly abandoned when he realized there was a sword flying at him. On instinct he created a _room_ and held his hand out to stop the weapon from hitting him. Only after it had slowed enough to grab did he recognize the familiar white crosses on the black sheath coupled with the durable red rope he had wrapped around the top of the sheath. Finally, he had his damn cursed sword back. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips and he looked up to catch her grinning at him.

“I’m assuming that’s yours?”

He nodded and adjusted his grip so he could let his arm hang at his side without dragging Kikoku, “It’s what I came here for, actually. It was stolen by the marines.”

She snorted and returned to the pile of weapons that she was currently focused on. “That figures. Governments, right? Anyway, if you’re feeling generous, would you be so kind as to help me? As it turns out, I’m _also_ here for a sword.” She paused and shot him look that was caught somewhere between amusement and chagrin, “Though, I’m half sure that I’m stealing it _from_ the marines. I wasn’t able to unearth its whereabouts before it ended up here.”

He blinked at her, surprised that she would openly admit her own reasoning for being on this base. Though he had no qualms about pilfering, and certainly not from the navy, as a swordsman he found himself hoping it was not a _meito_. Stealing a graded sword, no matter who from, was generally frowned upon, even among pirates. Still, he ventured further into the room, picking a barrel of swords to start in on in lieu of verbally agreeing. This time, he did see the amused smile she was sporting, though neither of them commented on his actions.

Instead, she described the blade she was looking for, a _yoto_ , as it happened. Less frowned upon, and one that he had not heard anything of. As they looked for her sword, she made a few comments but overall the two chose not to chatter or converse. The process, though incredibly tedious, do not take long. He knew it would have taken even less time if he had used scan, but it would be a needless waste of energy, considering the size of the chamber and the amount of objects in it, that he might end up needing later. Eventually the deep blue sheath of a wakazashi that was embroidered with green abstract spider web-like patterns turned up and he was careful to grab the small sash it was attached to rather than any part of the blade or sheath. Cursed swords varied, some could be touched by anyone and others should not be touched at all; either way, he was not going to take chances with it.

He cleared his throat to gain her attention, only really realizing right then that he did not know her name, and she turned to him with a curious look that immediately melted into excitement and gratitude. “Finally! I was beginning to think I’d I have to search the entire base for the damn thing.” Her childlike exuberance garnered another half-smile from him, and a he refused to tally exactly how many she had drawn from him compared to how much he normally smiled. Or felt any semblance of joy. Fighting down the urge to clear his throat again, this time for completely different reasons, he held the short blade out to her, leaving room on the sash for her to grab.

Still smiling brightly, she took the hint and literally jumped the entire mess of weapons to land a mere foot away from him and his outstretched hand. She also paid heed to his grasp on the weapon and copied it when she reached out for it.

Determinedly ignoring the feelings stirring in his gut, he offered her another small smile in the face of, what seemed to him, an incongruent amount thanks and relief. Seizing on the logic that she had been open with him thus far without complaint, he could not help but ask, “What’s the story with—you called it _Sekiryoku_?”

She nodded, affirming his recollection of the name of the cursed sword now in her grasp, but followed it up with a shrug and a sheepish smile. “Me personally? It’s a paycheck. I was commission to acquire it for…someone.” Before he could open his mouth, eyebrow quirked and curiosity reflecting in his grey eyes, she shook her head to forestall any questions on the identity of her buyer. “I have no idea who, which is common in my line of work. I get offered a job, and if I take it and complete it, I get paid. There’s no real wiggle room for asking ‘who’s and ‘why’s that aren’t essential to the completion of the job.”

Despite having hypothesized it at first, it still surprised him to realize that she was, in essence, a mercenary. Jobs, that were most like illegal, done for hire—no questions asked.

Somehow, he did not think it suited her.

But, then again, he was in no position to talk, was he? Between his chosen lifestyle and burgeoning reputation for cruelty, he really didn’t.

Instead, he simply nodded again, accepting the explanation at face value.

Seeming happy at the apparently easy acceptance he offered her, she shot him another smile—grateful, relieved, curious—and backed up so she was not all but invading his personal space. He ignored the fact that he had not been particularly aware of that like he generally was with anyone outside his crew—Bepo, really in favor of jerking his head at the door. They both had what they came for, and curiosities aside, it was time to get a move on.

With one last smile, she made for the door and he generated a _room_ to teleport himself just outside the base and in the direction of his sub. A glance back at the building told him that it was still as silent as the grave, and likely as scarce. Turning back towards the area his sub was docked he continued to room himself towards, secure in the knowledge that his temporary ally would have no trouble getting off the tiny island and towards wherever she planned to head next.


End file.
